


Taking Umbridge

by PSW



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Because I suspect they didn't just take that lying down, Fred and George's response to Umbridge's use of the blood quill on Lee, Gen, OotP missing scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 12:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14136351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PSW/pseuds/PSW
Summary: Harry and friends aren't the only ones having trouble with Dolores Umbridge ...





	Taking Umbridge

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of randomness. :-)
> 
> Cross posted from FF.net. Was originally published in chapter form, but I put it here as a one shot.

_Taking umbrage: to feel resentment, take offense_

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

Dolores Umbridge's office was … pink. Overwhelmingly pink. And frilly. Heavily perfumed.

Nauseating. Revolting.

Fascinating.

At least, fascinating in the way that a Quidditch collision or the explosion of an entire crate of dungbombs was fascinating. You couldn't bear to look, but it was also impossible to look away.

Lee stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared nonchalantly—he hoped—around the feline infested nightmare as Umbridge rustled in her desk, murmuring softly in a voice that still managed to be falsetto and sugary even when barely audible. "We must learn to mind our tongues and show the proper respect to authority, mustn't we, Mr. Jordan?" She didn't seem to expect a response, which was just as well since he didn't intend to give one. "I would tell you that it's wise to watch the company you keep, but seventh year … much too late for that. We'll just have to do what we can to mitigate the damage, won't we? Yes, you'll soon see …"

Rows upon rows of porcelain kittens mewed their agreement. Lee forced back a shudder. If only Fred and George could see this place … Although come to think, there was no guarantee they hadn't. It was only a matter of time, and the Weasley twins were much more diligent about their homework when it came to pranks than to school assignments.

"Here we are!" Umbridge trilled, bustling toward him. He resisted the urge to back away—for all her delicate mannerisms, the woman had the build of a mountain troll—and stared down at the DADA professor. Their height difference didn't seem to disturb her. She thrust a parchment and quill into his hands, then sent a fluttery wave toward the spare desk. "Lines, Mr. Jordan."

Well, that didn't sound terrible.

"In the evenings for the next week."

A  _week?_  That was starting to edge onto terrible, maybe. He'd go mad …

Best to just get it done with. Lee slouched obediently into the chair, and Umbridge leaned over him, tapping the parchment.  _"I will not talk back to my betters."_  She simpered at his glare. "Come now, Mr. Jordan. We must all learn our unpleasant truths in one way or another."

The woman really  _was_  a troll. He was certain the blood was in there somewhere—on her mother's side, probably, and not many generations back …

All right, then. "How many?"

The simper grew, and she tossed a prim little shrug. "I'll let you know."

Fantastic. He hoped he'd make it back to the dorm before it was time to get up for breakfast. Lee watched her return to her desk, fantasizing for a moment about setting his tarantula loose in her carefully coiffed hair, then accepted his fate and dug into the drawers for an ink bottle. It had been coming for weeks, honestly, ever since he'd levitated that dungbomb into her path outside the library after closing one night. He had been catching up on some Potions research after hours—Madam Pince wasn't quite so strict with the seventh years about closing time as she was with the younger classes, knowing what N.E.W.T. year was like—and had almost walked straight into Umbridge berating a group of Hufflepuff first years who had got themselves turned around by the moving staircases and were back outside the library instead of in their common room where they belonged. It had happened to all of them at one time or another, and not just first years. The entire castle was one big maze. This was Umbridge, though, and given the terrified huddle of eleven-year-olds in the torchlight, it seemed that she was pulling no punches based on either age or inexperience. So Lee had ducked back around the corner, pulled out a dungbomb that he kept handy for such eventualities, and levitated it directly over her head. Umbridge had caught the direction of their wide-eyed stares too late, and by the time she had recovered from the explosion and subsequent mess her victims had all fled. She had never seen him, but he knew that she had questioned Madam Pince and had a good idea of who had left the library just before the incident. Mouthing off about exploding snap was only her excuse—if not for that she would have found something else.

"There's no ink here."

Umbridge clasped her hands and smiled. "There's no ink here … ?"

Old bat. "I don't have any ink here, Professor Umbridge." She didn't deserve the title, and she didn't deserve the respect that title conferred …

She twinkled at him and settled back. "Never fear, Mr. Jordan. Just write."

Just write. The woman was crazier than a—

A streak of fire burned across the back of his hand as he looped the first words onto the parchment and he jerked back, dropping the quill with a clatter.  _What the—_

"Keep on, Mr. Jordan."

Something cheery and …  _satisfied_  in her voice lifted his eyes from the disappearing cut and the blood red ink on the parchment. Revulsion surged as he met her gaze, gleaming and triumphant. Lee set his jaw and turned his attention back to the parchment and quill.

_The quill._  Dark magic of some sort, that much was sure.

Was this how they were going to play it, then?  _Fine_. Just fine. He forced away the buzzing in his ears and the angry nausea. Umbridge was nothing they couldn't handle.

"Perhaps you'll spread the word to your … associates, Mr. Jordan." Her voice, still soft and so sweet that his teeth ached as if he'd had a dozen sugar quills in a row, held a note of steel. "It's best not to test me, you see. I don't intend to lose."

_You don't intend, do you?_

Well, he didn't either. No Fred and George, then. There was no way he was running her messages for her. She'd have to do her own dirty work. It was probably for the best anyway. They'd go mental—as if they weren't already—and it would only give her another excuse. He was on his own then … But he hadn't been the Weasley twins' best mate for years without learning a thing or two about getting under a professor's skin.

Umbridge was still watching him when he looked back up, but her knowing grin faltered when he flashed her the full gleam of his own. Her eyes narrowed and she settled back, gaze never leaving him as Lee set about cheerfully covering the parchment with fresh red ink.

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

It became a sick sort of game over the next days, both determined to outlast the other in a power struggle witnessed by no one but the porcelain felines lining Umbridge's walls. Lee's jaw ached from the hours of constant smiling, but he had the satisfaction of watching the woman's glower deepen progressively as the week wore on. Umbridge countered this relentless cheerfulness with sessions that lasted until well past midnight. It was tough going in classes during the day, but here Lee's age gave him an advantage—the DADA professor seemed far rougher for the missed sleep than he did. The high point of his week came at dinner one evening, when he overheard Ernie Macmillan comment that Umbridge had actually nodded off at her desk during their class's reading time.

The visual gave him a much-needed boost.

His hand burned constantly, but he'd been a tester for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes for far too long to let something like that slow him down. Anyway, Harry's murtlap essence seemed to be keeping the worst of the after-effects at bay. He'd have to mention that to Fred and George when this was well behind him—they kept a sharp eye out for anything that might prove useful as either joke or antidote, and he thought murtlap might fall into that latter category. Only two more nights, in any case, and he'd be able to stop working so hard to keep his hand hidden. George had already been giving him odd looks during Charms when he'd spent the last two classes holding his wand right-handed. He'd managed to distract his friend with a story about wanting some ambidexterity with his spellwork, which was legitimate enough, but that was only going to last for so long. The Weasley twins were nothing if not observant, and they knew him too well.

Two more nights. Lee had spent the week thinking that this would be the last, and he knew that his façade had cracked for just an instant when Umbridge had declared with a gleam in her eye that she would see him tomorrow night. (Which was actually tonight, come to think.) The smirk had moved from her eyes to her lips as he looked quickly back at her from the doorway.  _"You didn't think this detention was for a school week, did you Mr. Jordan? Oh no. A full week. We mustn't waste those extra days."_  She had waited until the very end to spring it on him, the old bat. Despite everything Lee felt a reluctant admiration for the ploy, but that didn't keep him from being annoyed with himself for letting his dismay show. He'd lost some ground, for certain, but he was too tired at the moment to make any plans for getting it back.

He'd think about it in the morning.

Which should be here in about … three hours. Fantastic.

He slipped into the darkened dormitory, waited by the door until he heard the deep breathing of sleep (and in Fred's case, snoring) from the other beds, then crept across to his own and slipped through the curtains.  _"Lumos petite,"_  he whispered, and the tip of his wand kindled a dim light. It was barely enough to see by, but even with the curtains drawn he didn't intend to take chances. Lee pulled his robes clumsily over his head, stretched a good long stretch in the freedom of undershirt and trousers, and then turned his wand toward his damaged hand.

It was … not pretty. The cuts had stopped fully healing days ago, and tonight blood was still oozing darkly even twenty minutes after leaving Umbridge's office.

The troll.

He had the new murtlap essence made up and waiting—actually, Hermione had slipped it to him in the common room that morning without even waiting afterward for an acknowledgement. Lee pulled it out from under his pillow, along with a thick pad of the gauze that Fred and George kept around in large quantities 'just in case'. He managed to get the stopper out of the vial one-handed—his left hand was so cramped from writing lines that it was all but useless—but fatigue made him clumsy, and the vial rolled away when he went to upend it over the gauze. He swore softly and made a grab for it, but it tumbled off the edge of the bed and he heard the soft tinkle of breaking glass on the stone floor.

Perfect. Just  _perfect_. He flopped back onto his pillow, stared into the darkness above him, and tried not to think about either his throbbing hand or feeding Dolores Umbridge to the giant squid.

It didn't work that well.

" _Reparo."_

The voice wasn't his, and neither was the hand that thrust the suddenly mended vial through his bed curtains. Lee scrambled up, cursing, as the rest of George's body followed through the curtain and onto Lee's bed.

"Quiet, mate," George hissed, "unless you want to wake the rest of the room." He lifted a knowing eyebrow. "I assume, given the way you skulked in here, that you don't want that?"

Lee sighed and shook his head, flopping back down again. His brain sluggishly reached for some excuse, but it was probably a useless exercise—George of all people would see right through him. In any case, he was tired of hiding it all. He still had no intention of passing along Umbridge's message to his 'associates', as she called them, but he was also exhausted and sick of going it alone. It had been a rotten week.

George was sniffing the vial experimentally. "Don't recognize this smell. What's in here, then?"

"Essence of murtlap."

"Murtlap?"

"Right. Got it from Hermione, Harry told me about it." Lee shrugged. "Might be good for your Fever Fudge problem, I was going to mention it to you."

"Yeah?" George sniffed again, nodding. "We'll have to give it a try."

"Good."

"Right. So." The redhead flipped and caught the vial suddenly, set it aside, and leaned forward, pinning Lee with a dark gaze. "What have you been using it for, then?" Lee hesitated, one last thread of caution and pride tugging at him, and George shook his head. "No, you've been sneaking back in here later and later every night." He smirked calmly at Lee's sharp glance. "The game's up, mate, and you've got about two seconds to spill it before I go wake Fred up for it too." George settled back and shrugged. "Not that he won't hear about it first thing anyway."

Because that's how it was with the twins. It didn't really matter. In for a knut, in for a galleon. Lee held out his bleeding hand and watched George's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. He held a quick finger to his lips, recognizing the signs of an impending explosion.

"Keeping this quiet. Can't let her know she's getting to me."

George's jaw worked for a long moment, then he turned abruptly away. He twitched the curtain aside, and for a minute Lee was afraid that he planned to wake Fred anyway. Which would be fine, except that Fred was always a bit … louder with his anger. Instead, George pointed his wand through the tiny opening and hissed  _"Accio nougat!"_  A second later, George was unwrapping a Nosebleed Nougat and pulling it apart. He checked the colors in the dim lighting then tossed the purple antidote side to Lee, who caught it, feeling sluggish and stupid. He should have thought of this a week ago. The combination of potion and charm used in the nougat's antidote wasn't specific to nosebleeds, and he had far and away enough exposure to this particular sweet to know that. He downed the candy, and almost immediately the cut on his hand tingled as the bleeding slowed.

"Talk," George demanded, sitting back, and within seconds Lee found himself spilling the whole sordid story to an increasingly displeased Weasley twin. Despite his previous determination to keep the situation to himself, there was a strong sense of relief in sharing. The three of them were definitely stronger together than they were apart. When he had finished George shook his head, eyes narrowed. "You're an idiot."

"Probably," Lee agreed, scrubbing at his eyes. "But I'm also a  _tired_  idiot, so whatever other discussion is had about this will have to be in the morning."

"No need."

Lee looked sharply toward his friend, who was preparing to duck back through the curtains. "Look, I've got two days left, and I'd rather not have any more. She's a right—"

"Leave it to us."

Oh, fantastic. He wasn't sure if that was supposed to be comforting or not. Seeing Lee's expression, George flashed a wide grin and leaned back to pat Lee's shoulder.

"We've got you, mate. Leave it to us."

And with that, George was gone.

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

"We're set."

George Weasley slipped out from behind the statue of the headless hag and drifted across the hall. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Fred nodded cheerfully. "Peeves has got Umbridge tied up on the other side of the castle, and he's leading Filch on a wild doxy chase as we speak. We're definitely clear."

George shifted the potion pot to his other hand. It was still warm, finished just as Lee had finally slumped back into their dormitory after his sixth night of detention, and uncomfortable to hold yet for too long. "As long as she doesn't get fed up and come back early." Fred shook his head and displayed a roll of parchment in the wand-light.

"I believe she's  _actually_  tied up. So unless anyone else happens by the fourth floor girls' toilet at this time of the morning …"

George squinted at the tiny dots spaced across the Marauder's Map, noting the singular lack of movement in that particular area of the castle. The poltergeist definitely knew his playing field. He watched the dots labeled 'Peeves' and 'Argus Filch' circle the tip of the astronomy tower while 'Mrs. Norris' hovered just below, and grinned widely. "Good old Peeves."

"Common enemy, and all." Fred handed over the Map and squinted at the heavy door handle that led into the Defense Against the Dark Arts office. "What are the chances this will be simple?"

"If she hasn't at least got an anti- _alohomora_  on it, we may have to downgrade her from 'nemesis' to 'minor annoyance'. 'Course, it wouldn't say much for us either, with the state she's got us all in …"

"Well, no need to worry." Fred tried the unlocking charm twice, then shook his head and set his wand aside. "She's thought of it. But …" He grinned and withdrew a little pouch containing their set of Muggle lock-picks from inside his robes. "Has she thought of these?"

George leaned against the wall and casually studied the Map as Fred bent to his task. He didn't expect anyone to stumble across them at this hour, but it never hurt to be on guard. "Good of Harry to lend us our old friend for the night."

"Are you joking? He had it in my hands almost before I even asked." Fred peered into the lock. "Hold the wand a bit closer, will you?" George moved the light source, and Fred continued. "Should have heard some of the things he said about her."

"Our little Harry?"

"Been spending too much time with … ickle Ronniekins … I think." With a last twist, Fred pushed and the door swung silently open. George retrieved the potion and slipped past him while Fred put the lock-picks away with an affectionate pat. "Never fails us. I'm amazed more witches and wizards don't …" His voice trailed away as he followed George inside and the true horror of Umbridge's domain made itself known. Fred gaped for a long moment, then snatched his own wand and muttered  _"Lumos"_ , adding its light to the one cast by his still-frozen twin.

"Lee didn't do this place justice."

Frilly cushions, heavy flowery scent ( _"D'ya think something from one of the greenhouses curled up in here and died?"_ ), soft mews and purrs from every possible angle, and the glitter of dozens of feline eyes reflecting back the wand-light. It was …

It was …

"You clash," George muttered finally, breaking the spell. He set down the potion pot, tossed the open Map beside it, and drifted over to the nearest row of porcelain cats. Fred shook his head and moved toward the desk. He couldn't even protest, not legitimately—their orange hair was riotously out of sync with the rose and carnation hues surrounding them.

"Well, I'll take that as a compliment."

George snorted, studying the plate mountings. "I would." He lit a couple of candles, then extinguished his wand and twirled it aimlessly through his fingers, eyeing the vast rows of porcelain.

"You good, Georgie? Need some help?"

His twin smirked back at him. "You just worry about your own self. I'll be fine."

Fred laughed soundlessly, then turned his attention to the desk drawers as George began to apply Permanent Sticking Charms to each plate, the first in a series of charms planned for the excursion. "Bet she didn't bother with these." And indeed,  _alohomora_  clicked the tiny lock immediately. Fred pulled the drawer open, and his grin hardened. "Right on the first go."

"Got it?" George looked around.

"Got it." Fred held up the black quill briefly, then set it on the desk and hunched over it. "All right, you." His voice dropped as he brandished his wand, his gaze locked onto the gleaming feather and the long polished tip. "All right. Let's see just what you've got, then."

Silence fell, broken only by the constant mews and the soft, repetitive murmuring of charms from George's position. He finished with the Permanent Sticking Charm and rounded back to the beginning, moving on to the next set. This was getting old very quickly, but it would be more than worth it in the end … "One down, three to go." He looked around. "What about you, you got anything yet?"

"It's a regular quill, as far as I can tell. The curse seems to be centered on the tip—the rest, all this black feathering and the like, is just for show."

"Can you do anything with it?"

Fred's eyes flickered up. "You just worry about your own self, yeah?"

George snickered, returning to his charms. He finished the second and was returning to the starting line— _again_ —when a sudden hot pain sliced through the back of his hand, leaving a streak of red blood behind. "Oi!" He clutched at it, turning a glare on his twin. Fred smirked unrepentantly.

"Excellent!"

"This is good, then?" George demanded.

"This is very good." Fred grinned sharply, and hunched back over the quill. "Speed it up, would you? I'll be done in time to help with the permanent  _protegos_."

"Speed it up." He snorted, turning back to the walls. "Speed it up, he says …"

It was just as well, though. The increasingly disturbed porcelain cats were beginning to send up a protest, mews and trills growing in both number and volume, and the noise was starting to grate on him. George finished the third charm and snatched up the potion with relish. "All right, then." He fixed a glare on the fluffy black figure on the first plate. "Let's see how you do with this."

The cat produced a surprised squawk as the first brush full of potion hit its plate. It backed away, grimacing and pawing at its mouth, and was still complaining when George moved on to the next. In very short order the mews had quieted considerably, fallen to a disgruntled spitting and gagging. Fred joined him soon after, moving along behind and muttering a modified version of  _protego_ over each plate before the potion had even dried. George charmed a second brush to start from the end, and joined Fred in placing the last of the  _protegos_  once the potion supply had been exhausted.

"We get them all?"

"Almost. Five left."

"It's good, won't matter."

"Nope, not at all."

"We done, then?"

"Yep, looks like."

They stood together for a long moment, admiring their work in the flickering light.

"It's going to be fantastic."

"That it is, Georgie. Brilliant job."

"And you."

The twins gathered their supplies, snagged the Marauder's Map, and ducked back into the hall. As Fred bent to relock the door, the first of the porcelain cats lining Dolores Umbridge's walls rose, braced itself, and began to heave.

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

Light edged the heavy curtains around Lee's bed when he woke. He was still exhausted—the old bat had kept him at it into the early hours again—and he buried his head beneath his pillow, blocking out any hint that it was time to rise. That lasted for all of thirty seconds, until he remembered that he had specifically set an alarm charm for … well, earlier than this, if it was already daylight outside. He swore and launched himself out of bed, tangling in the curtains and ending up in a heap on the floor. He had essays due for Charms and Potions in the morning, and a DADA test on Tuesday. This was N.E.W.T year, they weren't kidding around anymore.

How could he have missed his wake up? This was definitely not the morning to have a lie in.

Lee picked himself up and staggered to the small desk beside his bed. His books didn't seem as jumbled as he remembered, and it only took a moment to discover why. Both his Charms and his Potions books were gone—his DADA book was the only one in evidence.

He had brought them back up to the dorm with him, yes? Yes, he was sure of it. Which meant … what did it mean? He didn't know, and he was too muddled to puzzle it out now. Checking the time, he realized that breakfast was nearly over and that he would need to hurry if he wanted to eat before he settled in for the day with a couple of good textbooks. (Was 'good textbook' an oxymoron?) He pulled on a shirt and trousers, but when he went to the wardrobe for a robe, he found a note written in Fred's careless scrawl affixed to the outer door with a sticking charm.

_Morning, mate. We thought you could use a lie in, so we reversed your alarm. No need to thank us._  Lee bit back a few choice phrases that were definitely not thanks. He had a lot of work to do …  _We do remember all that moaning you've been doing about tests and papers and such (Honestly, one might almost think you wanted to graduate or something. –G), so we saved you the corner chair by the fireplace. It's yours for the day, study away. DADA calls._  How did they know that DADA was the only book left to him? His choice phrases made it into the open this time. Still, he couldn't work up any real annoyance. The corner chair was the best study spot in Gryffindor—both comfy and out of the way, with the added benefit of a sturdy oak desk set directly beside—and anyway, they wouldn't do anything that would actually put him behind. Hmm. At least, not on purpose.  _And don't come down to breakfast, we've got it covered._  Well, that was more like it.  _Cheers. –F (PS—_ reciproco repello _should do the trick.)_

Huh.

Lee abandoned the wardrobe, snatched his wand, the DADA text, a quill, and a bottle of ink from his bedside desk, and stumbled downstairs. The common room was sparsely populated but not entirely empty—Seamus, Dean, and Parvati huddled around one of the tables, comparing several long parchments of notes, and Neville slumped in one of the chairs in front of the fire, staring morosely at a Potions text and chewing on the end of his quill. Not surprising, that. O.W.L. year was no more fun than N.E.W.T. year. Several third years sprawled out on the rug, playing something that looked like a combination of gobstones and exploding snap. The corner chair was still empty, but as he left the stairs a couple of first years ducked through the portrait. One of them, noting the unclaimed status of this highly coveted spot, went skipping across the room and flung himself onto it, only to be launched by the seat cushion back over the heads of the third years and onto the long couch opposite. The third years didn't even look up from their game, and Neville only shook his head.

"Fred Weasley was at that one earlier, Timmy. Best to just stay away."

The first year—Timmy? They got smaller and looked more alike every year—nodded with wide eyes and went scrambling back to his friend. Lee grinned and crossed the room.

"How many?"

"What?" Neville looked up again, and seeing him, shrugged. "Oh, five or six, I guess. Haven't really been counting." He shook his head. "Jennali, that little second year, went all the way over the couch and ended up in the potted fern, though. Think Fred could have been a bit less enthusiastic with it." His voice held a wistful touch of envy. It was definitely the type of charm at which Neville Longbottom struggled and the Weasley twins excelled.

"She all right, then?"

"Yeah. Got a good kick out of it, I think."

"Good." Lee approached the chair and pointed his wand. " _Reciproco repello_." Nothing visually changed, but the cushion remained still when he dropped onto it. "Ah …" It really was the best chair in Gryffindor. He stretched his legs toward the fire, then jerked them back with a yelp when an elf appeared directly before him with a loud  _crack._

"You is Mr. Jordan, sir?"

He stared. "I am."

"Very good, sir, very good!" the elf squeaked. "I is Taddy, and I is here to see what you want to eat for breakfast!"

Trust Fred and George. "Uh …"

"We is talking to the twin Weasleys, sir, and they is saying you need food here because …" Taddy looked around almost fearfully, then lowered his voice and leaned in. "Because  _that woman_  is keeping you up late and making you miss breakfast!" The last word rose to an indignant shriek, and Lee smothered a grin. Apparently, Hogwarts house elves were on the same roll of parchment as everyone else when it came to Dolores Umbridge.

"Right. Uh, yes, she is at that." Lee pondered for a moment. "How about an omelette, a couple of waffles with strawberry jam, a goblet of pumpkin juice, and a jug of coffee?"

Taddy nodded enthusiastically. "Right away, sir!"

"Thank you."

The elf nodded again. "You is most welcome!" He leaned in again, his large eyes earnest. "She is a  _bad woman_ , that one!" Without waiting for a response, Taddy popped away.

"Can't really argue with that," Neville muttered, though his voice was barely audible and he refused to meet Lee's eye.

"No." Lee shook his head, jaw tightening. "Nor I." He slung the DADA text onto the desk, and had barely had time to set the quill and ink beside it when Taddy  _cracked_  back into the room. The elf presented a huge tray, complete with everything Lee had requested as well as several scones, a bowl of oatmeal and cream, and four cinnamon twists on the side. Before Lee could thank him or protest that he couldn't possibly eat all of the food provided, Taddy bowed and  _cracked_  away again. Lee surveyed the tray, then looked up at Neville. "Scone?"

Neville was helping himself to both a scone and the oatmeal when the portrait opened again, spilling Fred and George into the room. The twins' eyes lit up when they spotted Lee (or maybe it was the food), and they crossed the room. "Taddy's been here, then."

"That he has." Lee held up the tray. "Cinnamon twist?" The twins took all four between them and settled on the rug around the corner chair. Fred grinned.

"The elves practically fell over themselves to help when we explained the situation. Apparently Umbridge was down inspecting the kitchens last week. She claimed that—"

"The  _kitchens_? What does that have to do with our education?"

"Well, nothing of course … but when has that ever stopped her?"

George swallowed, taking over as Fred turned his attention to his pastry. "She was on about something to do with the pumpkin juice, apparently. Something about suspecting that the kitchens were importing their pumpkins instead of using the ones grown here…"

This surely had to be a joke. Except, he was fairly certain that it wasn't.

"You can imagine how that went over." Fred shook his head, still smirking. "I've never seen them so offended. They were still trying to point out the 'obvious differences' between Hogwarts pumpkins and imported ones as we were walking out the door…"

"Anyway, worked out for you."

"That it did." Lee stuffed his mouth full of waffle and chewed for a long minute before changing the subject. "Do you lot happen to know what happened to my Charms and Potions texts? Only, I've got essays for …" He trailed off as each twin produced a parchment roll from his robes and handed it over with a flourish. "What is this?" he demanded, although he knew very well what 'this' was.

"You've been busy," George proclaimed with a shrug.

"Very busy," Fred agreed.

"And tired."

"And not in the best frame to be writing N.E.W.T. level essays, yeah?"

Lee glared. "Yeah, but you've both got your own—"

"Lee." George shook his head sadly.

"Lee," Fred repeated. "You know we probably won't end up taking N.E.W.T.s." He send a hard glance toward Neville, who was gaping at this pronouncement. The third years were still utterly engrossed in their game. A few chess pieces had joined the action, knocking the gobstones around several piles of exploding snap cards. "Neville, I'm sure I don't need to remind you of all the Weasleys' products you might end up testing if you repeat that to anyone."

Neville shook his head frantically and glued his eyes to his text. Lee sighed, flicking at the tray with one finger. "You're still on about that, then?"

George smiled, sympathetic. "Cheer up, mate. It'll likely be only a few months toward the end. We haven't got any real plans in place yet." He nodded toward the parchment rolls now sitting on the oak desk. "And in the meantime, you've got three brains for the price of one."

That was … a disturbing image. But he got the point, and they meant well.

He was grateful to them—and not just for the essays and whatever they had been doing after he had finally staggered into to bed this morning. Speaking of …

"What's up for Umbridge, then?"

The twins shared a grin that might have frightened him, seven years ago.

"Nope. No telling. You just wait."

"Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise." 

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~**

The corridor leading to the DADA office was deserted as Lee trudged toward his final detention. It was no surprise, really—there wasn't much down this way except Umbridge's office, quarters, and classroom, and he couldn't imagine many students willing to risk any of their weekend hours so near the old bat's usual haunts. Normally he would have been in firm agreement. As things stood, though, he had been anticipating this moment for hours. Despite what awaited him—what  _might_  await him, at this point he was considering all bets off for the evening—it was difficult not to, what with the twins' fierce grins lurking all day and following him out portrait hole a few minutes back.

She didn't intend to lose, ha. Maybe not, but Lee doubted that she had ever been up against the likes of Fred and George Weasley before. He stifled a grin.

Umbridge would never know what had hit her.

Even as the thought brought a chuckle that echoed a bit too loudly in the empty corridor, he turned into the alcove that held the DADA office and the stench hit him. Lee stopped in his tracks and slapped a hand over his nose, taking shallow breaths through his mouth. What  _was_  that? It was … overwhelming, is what it was. Stale and sour, it smelled a lot like … Oh.

Oh, great Merlin.

He choked back another laugh, because laughing would require breathing and he didn't want to do that right now, and pointed his wand at himself. " _Repello nidor_." Immediately, the reek cut off. Another point to Fred and George, who had created the strongest stench repellent charm that Lee had ever seen not long after their experiments for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had taken off. It had been in their own best interests, really, considering some of those first attempts … Lee took a cautious breath, relieved when the usual dusty stone scent of a Hogwarts corridor reached his nose, and started forward. He stopped abruptly again when voices exploded from the office ahead of him.

"What kind of a nurse are you? You—"

"That's just it, Professor! I am a nurse! A  _nurse!"_  Madam Pomfrey's shrill protest cut off the accusation. "I am not a veterinary specialist, and especially not one for  _porcelain cats!_ I suggest you remove them from your walls, as there is nothing that—"

"We have tried that already," Umbridge hissed, her prim voice rising. "As you see, we are  _still_  trying. However, the longer it takes, the more—"

"If you think that  _I_  can be of any use in stemming …  _this_ ," the nurse snorted, "then I must truly question your fitness as a professor in this school. Even the youngest first-year knows that the  _nurse_  is not to be called for wall hangings and—"

"Be careful, Poppy." The DADA professor's tone dropped to a silky whisper. "I am here by the order of the Ministry, and anyone who questions my—"

"Yes, yes, I'm well aware of your  _qualifications_." Pomfrey's words dripped disdain, and Lee started quickly forward. As much as he was enjoying her tirade, the last thing he wanted was for the nurse to draw any kind of trouble over their prank. "I can do nothing about your presence here, Dolores, more's the pity, but I can also do nothing about your  _cats_. Summon me when you have a real medical emergency or leave me to the hospital wing where I can be of actual use. Good day!"

The heavy door of the DADA office slammed behind the fuming nurse, and Pomfrey ran directly into Lee before he could dodge. She pulled up sharply, glaring.

"Mr. Jordan. What are you doing here?"

"Um, detention." He shrugged.

Pomfrey scowled. "Well then, good luck to you." She shook her head, expression thunderous. "May I advise you to hold your nose and cover your ears. It's … unpleasant in there."

"I, uh …" Lee allowed the hint of a grin. "I know, actually."

The nurse blinked. "Oh you do, do you?" She studied him for a long moment, then nodded sharply and  _hmffed_. "I see. In that case, my congratulations to you and your associates. It's quite well done." For a moment Lee wasn't sure he had heard correctly. Then, he laughed softly. After all, the students weren't the only ones out of patience with the woman.

"My associates will appreciate  _your_  appreciation, Madam Pomfrey." He nodded and went to slip past her, but she caught his arm, all levity vanishing.

"She is enraged and unreasonable, Mr. Jordan. Be extremely cautious. I have no wish to see you again tonight."

He sobered quickly. "I will."

This is what Hogwarts was now, and he hated it …

"Good." She patted his arm, turned, and bustled down the hall. Lee took a deep breath, then faced the thick wooden door and rapped loudly.

The door flew open and Dolores Umbridge stood before him, red-faced and snarling. Her perfect hair was in disarray, her pink bow askew. From behind her came a cacophony of wails and coughing and heaving. Over her shoulder, he glimpsed rows upon rows of porcelain cats huddled over in their plates, gagging and spitting a range of foul-colored substances. He swallowed carefully, buried his delight, and returned his gaze to her face.

"Professor, I—"

" _You!_ " Umbridge snarled, stabbing a finger into his chest. Lee stepped back, wary. She  _did_  seem a bit beyond reason at the present moment. Behind her, Lee caught sight of Filch prying at one of the plates with a long silver crowbar. Mrs. Norris paced in the center of the office, adding to the general commotion with a series of long, high feline yowls. Umbridge advanced, eyes blazing. "If I find that you had anything to do with this, Mr. Jordan …"

"I didn't," he hastily assured her. "I don't even—"

"And you probably believe that this will excuse you from detention, don't you?"

"I—"

"It will  _not_ , Mr. Jordan!" Umbridge seized his robes and yanked him into the DADA office. The din rose around him, porcelain cats and real cat and infuriated DADA professor, and Lee spared a moment to wish he had added a sound-blocking charm as well. Filch snarled at him from across the room, but was too engrossed in his task for any of his usual threats. Umbridge propelled Lee toward her desk. "You know where I keep the quill. Get to work!" Then she was gone, hurrying over to reprimand Filch over a wide tear in the garish pink wallpaper. Lee gaped at the chaos for another moment, wishing that Fred and George could be here to see their work in action, then ambled toward Umbridge's desk. A night with the blood quill would be worth it just to watch them at it.

Lee gathered the black quill and parchment, crossed the room, and settled himself at the student desk. He spent a moment more admiring the beauty of the twins' efforts, then sighed, put his head down, and scrawled out the hated line for possibly the billionth time.

_I will not talk back to my betters._

It didn't even occur to him that there was no pain until Umbridge yelped and rounded on him, abandoning her supervision of Filch's attempt to bludgeon one of the plates to bits with a metal hammer. Lee dropped the quill and leaned away as she bore down on him, staring in horror at one delicately manicured hand. He followed her gaze and just caught the words  _'…to my betters.'_  as they faded back into Umbridge's skin.

_That_  was … completely unexpected.

And brilliant.

And likely to send her right over the edge.

The DADA professor lunged across the desk and Lee scrambled out of the way, but she wasn't going for him. Umbridge snatched up the black quill, staring at the gleaming feather with bulging eyes. She barely had her fingers around it, however, before it transfigured with a loud  _'pop'_  into a black rat. Umbridge screeched and dropped the squirming rodent, which dove immediately for her and began to gnaw at her ankles. The professor squealed like a little girl and stumbled away, tripping over one square pink heel and crashing against the side of her own desk. The rat scrambled after her and she batted it frantically away. At the touch of her hand it transfigured again, this time into a bat. Her new shriek held more than a hint of hysteria, but Lee couldn't find it in himself to feel sorry for her.

Umbridge threw her arms over her head, but not quickly enough. The bat dug into her hair and clung fiercely, flapping and squeaking. Filch abandoned his mallet to run to her aid, hopping around her and slapping wildly at the offending creature. He hit Umbridge as often as he hit the bat, and after a few attempts Umbridge shoved the caretaker firmly away. Mrs. Norris yowled a protest at this treatment of her master and launched an attack of her own.

Lee thought he might literally hurt himself trying contain his laughter.

Without warning, Umbridge rounded on him. "Get out!"

The reversal startled him in its suddenness. "Professor?"

" _Out! Get out!_ " She got her hands on the bat and yanked, but suddenly it was a mouse, wings disappearing from her grasp. The mouse dove down the front of her robes, and Umbridge's face turned a fascinating shade of red as she danced in place. Filch made an effort to track the moving lump beneath the lurid pink fabric, but she slapped him away and glared at Lee. " _Get out!_ "

He wasn't about to look a gift mouse in the mouth. Or bat. Or rat. Or … whatever it was now. "Yes, Professor." Lee barely masked his snicker. "Thank you."

He did stop in her doorway for one last look. Umbridge was still dancing in place, and Filch was still hopping around her. Mrs. Norris was up on the desk, scratching at a descending bulge in Umbridge's robes. The porcelain cats were still gagging and spitting and sending up an ear-splitting ruckus.

Yes, it was good to be friends with Fred and George.

Lee ducked away, slipped his hands into his pockets, and sauntered casually down the hall. The old bat would have it in for them when she managed to get her feet under her again, no doubt. She knew as well as he did that this was all connected to him somehow. Still, that didn't scare him. Umbridge was nothing they couldn't handle.

And for now, he had an early night.


End file.
